Jamestown's Thanksgiving: Extra helpings of gratitude, determination

Community savaged by flood shows its spirit has survived

JAMESTOWN -- The people of this community didn't need the devastation from the storm of the century to give them a sense their home was special.

Jamestown folks knew that all along.

Roughly 40 current and former residents, plus a scattering of friends, gathered together mid-afternoon on Thanksgiving at "the Merc" -- the Jamestown Mercantile -- to feast and to celebrate a spirit far too strong to be carried away in a historic flood.

"I wanted to do something to pull this town together," said longtime resident Oak Chezar, who was credited for doing much to organize Thursday's gathering.

As she stood in line to fill a plate from the bounteous spread at the end of the room, she said, 'We've had the extreme destruction that is now matched by extreme abundance."

While many on hand spoke of the strong sense of community that existed before the September storm that even today still limits access to their mountain enclave, all agreed that for those still in town, the spirit of unity has only grown stronger.

"It has lifted us to a different plane than we were used to," Chezar added. "it all feels more vivid...accelerated."

Jamestown's Thanksgiving would have likely featured far leaner pickings, if not for Lafayette's Eternal Savior Lutheran Church, whose members contributed and prepared two 20-pound turkeys, 10 pounds of ham, and many of the sides that were enjoyed as the afternoon wore on.

In leading a blessing as all held hands in a circle before the meal began, church pastor Paul Rhode said, "We thank you, that even in the midst of disasters, we still have love, camaraderie, and caring, for one another."

Numerous people attending the Thanksgiving feed said the population of Jamestown had plummeted from roughly 300 before the flood down to 20-to-25 now, on weekdays, with the number growing somewhat on weekends as residents return for a day or two to focus on repairs.

Resident Mark Wischmeyer, a volunteer firefighter, said a recent careful count showed there are actually 53 living there now. Whichever number is most accurate, all agreed that as road crews continue to restore access and recovery work continues, things have changed dramatically -- at least for the short term.

Connie Gordon had moved from Jamestown with her husband Perryn Gordon to north Boulder about eight months before the flood, but the couple plans to move back. She contributed her skills as a chef and caterer Thursday to preparing items such as sweet potatoes, cranberry sauce, bread and desserts.

"It was so eerie when we got up here today," she said. Upon first arriving, she noted, "We ran into one person -- instead of 20. It was so quiet."

Perryn Gordon observed that in some places, a feeling of community only arises in the wake of a trauma such as that which Jamestown and other Front Range locations experienced in September's flood. But in Jamestown, he said, that spirit was already firmly in place.

"We all knew each other before the storm," he said. "There are those who ask, how do you get the sense of community, without the disaster?' Here, the disaster was secondary."

With so many Jamestown residents having to live elsewhere for a while -- "in exile," as some locals put it -- they are employing different strategies to preserve their bonds, such as getting together for informal musical jams, even if they have to be staged elsewhere, perhaps nearby at the Bar-K Ranch or as far away as Lafayette.

"People are working very hard to keep that sense of community, even though people are so widespread," said Glenn Short. "People are determined to hang on to that and keep it going."

No better place to do it, though, than "the Merc." Rigors such as no running water -- those needing a restroom were directed to portable toilets across the road -- were offset Thursday by civilized touches such as seven cases of beer donated by Oskar Blues, of similarly hard-hit Lyons.

Among those lapping up the whole scene was Jamestown resident Lynn Wilber, who is in his second stint of living there. He narrowly missed seeing his house washed away by the flood that roared through town. It took out his landlord's property, nearby.

" My driveway is gone. That got completely washed out," Wilber said, pausing between bites of a thick slice of bread. "There is a creek running right by my house now that wasn't there before. It used to be on the other side of the street."

Looking around the cafe, he beamed at the bustle of well-fed humanity.

"This is great, it's more normal. This is what it's usually like here on a Saturday night. During the week, there's nothing but construction vehicles for the most part. This is a ghost town, during the week."

Wilber has no doubts Jamestown as he has long known it, will be back.

"We believe in ourselves," he said. "We believe we are in heaven. This is heaven. I don't want to be anywhere else."

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